Father's Joy
by Fangirl Francesca
Summary: Abigail Hobbs' life spiraled out of control faster than she could stop it. These were the struggles she faced in her last few months, before she was freed from her maker by Will Graham and subsequently had her life taken by Hannibal Lecter. Some chapters may contain mature themes.
1. Intro

People said that Garrett Jacob Hobbs was the sick one. He was the one that brutally murdered all those girls, and fed them to his family. They said his daughter, Abigail, was an innocent victim, a little girl troubled by her deranged father.  
They were wrong.  
The younger Hobbs was just as much at fault as the older. He might have gutted the fish, but she lured and reeled them in. If Abigail had only told the authorities what her father was doing, more than one life could have been saved, including her own. But she kept his ways a secret, and the guilt hung over her head until the day she died.  
The months leading up to Abigail's death were unimaginably painful, and she took the secrets they contained to her grave.  
This is her untold story.


	2. Paring

He followed her around for weeks before she got worried.

At first the attention was cute. He would sit next to her in class, and stand with her in the lunch line. He even offered to give her a ride home when he saw her walking.

It was the third ride he'd given Abigail when things got uncomfortable.

They had just turned out of the school parking lot. The road was lined with dirty piles of snow that seemed to never melt. With every snowfall, they just grew larger. The middle of winter had Minnesota looking gray, and Abigail thought it was making her depressed. At least, that was the lie she told herself.

He always drove on the backroads. He said it was to "avoid traffic", but there wasn't much of that. Still, Abigail didn't object. It was his car and his gas money, and if it weren't for him she'd be walking her ass home in the cold. She hated the cold.

Going slowly so he wouldn't skid on the ice, he commented on their pre-calc homework. That was yet another class she was failing. She didn't respond, but leaned her head on the window. The glass was cool and her head was aching. He must have been used to her silence, because she never said much to him. It was probably rude, but she didn't care. She didn't care about much anymore.

Eyes closed, listening to the old rock song on the radio, heat blasting in her face, she didn't notice his hand on her knee until it started creeping up.

Above the knee.

Middle of her thigh.

Inner thigh.

"Stop."

His hand recoiled automatically.

"Seriously?" Abigail nodded.

"Well...Fine, then. Whatever." He seemed annoyed, she noted. He had probably been hoping to get one hand down her jeans and the other under her sweater.

"Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over. Let me walk." He gave her a look but stopped his car.

"Your house is just up ahead."

"I know that. Thanks for taking me this far." She grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder, slamming the door on his 2002 Toyota Corolla. The sound echoed in the empty air.

Abigail walked quickly, head down, hands shoved in her pockets. She wasn't as experienced with boys as Marissa, but she wasn't a prude. She just didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

He drove slowly behind her. She didn't look over her shoulder, but she could sense him there. When she got in the house, before even kicking off her boots, she locked the door, traipsed through the kitchen, leaving a trail of wet boot prints behind her. She repeated the action at the back door. At the time, she forgot about the extra key they kept outside. If he had wanted to get in, he could have.

All that had been happening recently had warped Abigail's senses. When her stomach got queasy in the car, she knew it was time to get out of there. That was her "something bad is going to happen" feeling, and she had learned to trust it.

If that boy was spotted around her house by her father, he'd surely go ballistic. Mr. Hobbs didn't want any boy (or anyone, for that matter) near his little girl. Like most of the families in town, the Hobbs' had a gun collection that hung proudly on the wall in the garage. Garrett wasn't afraid to use them, and neither was she. Not that she had any intentions of shooting that boy… How did her mind end up here? With killing him?

Curling up on the couch, head resting on one of the pillows her father had made, she vowed to accept no more rides home, from anyone, no matter what the weather conditions were like. Then she fell asleep.

Mrs. Hobbs came home to puddles in her kitchen, which she hated.


End file.
